Friday, March 4
i love my jug of sourdough starter
i don't know that i understand why i am so attached to it. it's not like i'm ma ingalls in a sod house in the middle of the prairie~ i can pick up a loaf of bread at safeway lickity-split. maybe it's a nurturing thing.
my friend veronica gave me a cup of her starter several years ago so i could get mine going. a friend of hers shared a cup with veronica long ago, with the story that it originated from relatives who carried it with them over the chilkoot trail in the 1890's.
i don't know if that is a valid fact or not, but when veronica handed me my jar of gooey, yeasty history, i felt a certain obligation to keep that starter alive. so far so good. i feed it, stir it, keep fumbling hands away from it. in return it turns out amazing muffins and sourdough french bread. and last night, a fantastic batch of pancakes. i wonder if they could be called vintage...